Jocelyn's Wedding Dilemma: The Matchmaker and the Mother-in-Law by Zina Abbott

Author:Zina Abbott [Abbott, Zina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 10

May 15, 1882

Three days later, Jocelyn made a point to rise long before her mother usually left her bedroom. After quickly dressing in a neutral colored gown that should not draw attention, she gave minimal attention to her styling her hair before donning a drooped-brim summer hat—one which she hoped would hide most of her face—her gloves, and a lightweight shawl. Her bankbook deep inside her pocket, she slipped her reticule over her wrist.

Jocelyn cracked the door to her room open far enough to look down the hallway toward her mother’s bedroom. Door still closed and all is quiet. She hooked the fingers on one hand into the twine around the bulky parcel—triple-wrapped in heavy paper—which she assembled the night before. Next, she grabbed the two handles of the trunk she salvaged from the attic, took a deep breath, and hoisted everything upward as she straightened her back. Certain she had a firm grip on everything, she stepped out of her room. After easing the trunk down so it rested on the carpet runner, she lifted her hand not holding the parcel and carefully closed her door. She then eased her way down the stairs, careful to avoid stepping in the two spots she knew tended to creak.

Still holding the parcel, Jocelyn set the trunk on the entryway floor long enough to open the front door one-handed. Closing her eyes, she willed the road out front to be empty. The last thing she needed was witnesses. After carrying the trunk outside, she repeated the procedure. When she closed the door, she barely heard the snick of the latch catching. Good. I doubt Mama heard anything. She hoisted the trunk tightly against to her midsection. She stayed to the right side of the porch where the portico roof would block her movements from being seen from her mother’s window. Once down the stairs, she bore to the right, walking as quickly as the weight of the trunk allowed her laboring lungs to continue to draw breath. Please, Homer, do not be outside yet. She carried her load around to the side yard, where she had already selected a pair of bushes that—once she shoved the trunk between their protruding branches—would mostly screen it from view. She managed to set the trunk down before she dropped it. Untangling her fingers—almost numb now in spite of the protection of her gloves—from the twine, she shoved the parcel out of view.

Upon straightening and inhaling deeply, she turned her gaze toward the carriage house located at the back of the lot. Her heart climbed into her throat at the same time she felt as if the rest of her insides dropped.

Homer Cottingham, his gaze locked on hers, walked toward Jocelyn.

Hoping he had not seen her carrying the chest and parcel, and not wishing him to see them stashed in their current location, Jocelyn plastered a smile on her face as she forced her feet to move forward. “Good morning, Mr. Cottingham. I didn’t expect you out in the yard so early.

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